Mafia
by BeyondCanon
Summary: Mafia!Brittana. Santana is the head of the family, and she's got a problem. She's got a thing for the baker's daughter.


**MAFIA**

_A Fic by BeyondCanon_

* * *

This story is structured in three acts: The Build Up, The War, and The Chase. Each chapter on ff. net will consist of a complete act.

The first act, The Build Up, is already fully published on my Tumblr, and is now being posted here.

* * *

**ACT I**

**01 | MAFIA**

He's got a problem.

He's in too much debt.

She's wearing a gray pantsuit and she's smoking when he enters her office. She looks at him for a second and nods to the bodyguard, who closes the door. Other than that, she doesn't acknowledge his presence for several moments, unnerving him even more.

If she's trying to tell him he's insignificant to her business and she could ruin him and his only daughter, he's got the message a long time ago. He walks over to her desk and sits; she finally puts down her cigarette and stares at him.

She's got deep red nails, just like her lips. Her black, rich hair is long, falling down her back softly. She looks at him. "You know what, Dave?" Her heels click the floor sharply as she approaches the chair.

He's on his early fifties, well shaved, wearing a clean baby blue shirt and beige pants with a dark brown belt. He's a common guy, and he might be a good guy, but all there is to know right then is how frightened he is and how much money he owns her.

He stares at her full red lips and tries not to flinch when she continues, "You own me more than your house's worth." She pauses, hovering over him, sitting on the edge of her desk. "Not that your house is worth anything, with the second mortgage you had to take."

"I'm sorry, I really-" he stumbles, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean his forehead. "My wife, she fell very ill, and we spent all the money we had on her. I don't have anything, but I promise-"

He puts her high heels between his legs on the chair and he falls silent, thankful it wasn't his crotch. "See, Dave, you're mistaking me for someone who cares."

Sweat starts to form again on his forehead. He coughs awkwardly. "Please, if I only could have more time..."

She makes a gesture and he stops speaking again. "You know what, Dave? I'll give you three months. We'll talk then, and you better come up with a solution."

-.-.-.-.-

She's got a problem.

She's got a thing for the baker's daughter.

The baker's daughter is in her twenties, and she's tall and lean and blonde. She's the nicest person anyone could ever meet. She's sweet and she bakes well. Her legs are longer than the Great Wall of China.

"Good morning! A latte and a chocolate cupcake, as usual?"

"Morning, Brittany." She goes there to buy cupcakes just to see Brittany, sometimes. Not that anyone can know that. "Yeah, thanks."

The light smell of coffee fills the bakery as the order is being prepared. The girl turns to her and asks, "How have things been at the Casino?"

"You know, working too much trying to prove myself. My father left some big shoes to fill." And by big shoes, she means she's the head of the family now and she's supposed to run the legal and the illegal businesses of the Lopez clan.

Businesses that do include collecting money from Dave - the baker and the girl's father. And that might include taking his house and his bakery away from him so she can build a club. That might include having Dave beaten or killed to set the example for people who get in more debt than they can handle.

"I know the feeling. Since mom passed away things have been much harder at the bakery. It was her life project, you know? She was the one who kept things going." She gives Santana her tray with her coffee to go and her cupcake. It never ceases to be amazing how easy it is to talk to her, and how beautiful she is in her green apron, with her hair pulled up.

"Where is your dad?" She asks like she hasn't come here to talk to him and say he's late and she's not fucking Santa Claus to wait forever.

"He left a while ago," the girl says, cleaning the counter as she speaks. "He's got a meeting at the bank. He's going to ask for a loan."

Santana sips her drink. The man is the right kind of desperate. "I hope he's lucky with that. Tell your dad I said hi, will you?"

Brittany nods and smiles her pretty smile. "See you around, Santana."

"See you around."

**02 | INAUGURATION**

She's got a problem.

Everything is out of place.

Her mom passed away four months ago; her dad spent his retirement money on her treatment and now all they have is the bakery and so much debt; she misses her mom and no one knows what to do.

She throws away a tray of cookies that taste like shit. She doesn't know enough the run the bakery - she doesn't cook as well as her mom did, and there were so many recipes she was still learning when her mom was too ill to cook anymore. Her dad worked for the government and now he's taking over the administration and hard math and taxes and that kind of thing, awake at night making calculations when he thinks she's not seeing, and he's so stressed his blood pressure is always high.

A familiar voice interrupts her thoughts. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," she answers, sighing. "Just a new recipe that didn't work out." She cleans her hands with a cloth and turns to her client.

There she is, in all her glory: red lips, tight black leather pants, a sleeveless white shirt and cat-like Dior sunglasses. If only she wasn't so out of anyone's league in beautiful dirty rich-ness. "I'm sure it's just a matter of time before you get it right."

Brittany tries not to blush because that is not a compliment, just casual conversation. "Thanks, Santana. What can I get you today?"

"A latte and that new cupcake of yours. I'm feeling adventurous," she answers with a smile so enticing it could bring back the dead, placing the money on the counter.

The gods concede her deepest wish and Santana's phone rings. She turns around to answer it, displaying that fine behind in those fine tight wonderful leather pants. It's only human that to lick one's lips to the sight. But everything good must come to an end; Santana finally turns to her, putting her phone back in her purse.

"Everything ready for the inauguration?"

"Hopefully. My speech is ready, I have chosen my outfit, there are people there checking the electrical wiring and making sure everything is safe is well built, and the event team should arrive there to set up the place in an hour," Santana answers, sounding well-rehearsed.

Brittany smiles. "Seems like you've got it under control, then."

"See you there?"

"Definitely."

-.-.-.-.-

She's got a problem.

She can't possibly pull it off like her father did.

She's too young, she's too inexperienced, she's a woman, and she's even a lesbian, for God's sake. All the other families had heterosexual male old farts as their heads. She still doesn't know how she did it.

She adjusts her blue skirt looking at the bathroom mirror and checks if her light grey blouse is well tucked. It is. She breathes in and out, calming her nerves before they call her name. She knows her speech by heart. Everything is going according to plan.

She's also scary as shit, ambitious as shit, and she has left a blood trail to prove how much she wants it and how much she is capable of. Her father taught her well.

The door opens and it's the baker girl who enters, standing by the door when realizing there's someone there. "Sorry, I didn't know-"

She waves her hand to say there is no problem. "I was just... preparing myself for my speech." She looks at the girl in her faded jeans and purple blouse and wishes she could just go and kiss her. Maybe in another universe. "Sometimes being born into a certain family decides your life in more ways than one." She sighs and walks to the door to leave.

Brittany holds Santana's arm to stop her from leaving. Santana looks at her, and how close they actually are - she can feel the other girl's warmth, the jasmine undertones in her perfume, and if she wanted, if she leaned forward, she could kiss the baker's daughter right then.

"Family issues or not, you are going to be great today," Brittany says, letting go of Santana's arm. "Go get them."

She looks at Brittany and nods, leaving the bathroom right on time for her speech.

She goes to the pulpit under applause, and she smiles to the audience, to the local media, to the members of the family. Her speech is one of togetherness, of strengthening the community ties and the neighborhood, of pride for having grown up there and gratitude for being blessed with good chances in life. How important it is to have a chance to make it, to have opportunities, and how the young boys and girls are the ones who are going to change things.

There are flashes everywhere, and the spot of light on her feels a bit uncomfortable, but she ignores it all.

Her father always said she had a great knack for speeches. She commands their attention, explaining the creation and the works of the Mario Lopez Youth Center, a dream her father couldn't live to see but she had promised to him before he died she would finish. She would make sure not only it was built, but that it kept healthy and running for many years to come.

It is nothing but fair to give back to such a wonderful neighborhood.

The applause is thunderous and she steps out in victory.

There is no better way to laundry your money than through charity.

**03 | JUST BUSINESS**

He's insomniac.

He's in such deep shit he can't sleep anymore.

He's a widow, a retired person without the retirement money, a gambler out of control, with a wonderful daughter that moved back into her parents' to save the rent money and quit her job to take over her mother's bakery.

She startles him when sets the mug on his desk with a soft sound. He looks up to her. "I thought you were asleep."

"I could say the same." She sips her own tea, rubbing a hand on his shoulder. "It's late."

"I couldn't sleep," he says, running a hand through his thinning hair. In front of him are bills, taxes, reports, and his good old calculator. "Not even selling everything we have could solve all our problems."

"Everything will be okay, dad." She squeezes his shoulder, trying to gulp down her own feelings of hopelessness. "We don't need to sell anything. It's just business. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad. We will get through this."

He sighs. "I miss your mother." She kept him in check, his addiction under control, the family finances healthy and running. Now he's just a mess.

"I know." A long pause follows. "I do too."

-.-.-.-.-

He's in trouble.

Santana Lopez is not happy at all with him.

She's grabbing the lapel of his suit and pushing him aside. "You fucking piece of shit."

"I had- I had her sign an agreement-" His voice trembles so much it's pathetic; he knows it.

She pushes him against the wall and slaps him, hard, twice. "I'm not going after her in court, you dumb fuck. I fucked her a few times. It's not the kind of thing I want on public record."

She steps closer to him and he flinches.

"I'll talk to her," he says. "I'll talk to her and make it go away."

"You better." The gleam in her eyes makes her nothing short of ferocious. "You think my father put your poor ass through Harvard Law for nothing?" She slaps him again. "Why do you think he hired your unemployed father as a driver? Because you're all so nice?"

He owns her everything. Without her father his family would still be living in a motel, always hungry and sick, and he would still be working as a stripper. But he went to Harvard instead; his smaller siblings are finishing college and would never need to know about any of this. His father, God have him, died proud and active, rid of his depression.

She lights up a cigarette and he breathes out, relieved. She smokes when she's calming down. He remains in silence, waiting for her instructions.

"We're not children anymore, Trouty. It's business now. I gave you a simple job," she says before she takes a long drag. His heart is beating so frantically he might pass out in any moment. "You were supposed to make sure that Elaine bitch never said a word."

He can't fail her. He won't fail her. "I'll take care of it."

She looks into his eyes. "You helped me before and I'll never forget it. But this situation can't get out of hand."

"It won't," he nods, gathering courage. "No one has to know."

She nods and he leaves in a hurry.

-.-.-.-.-

She's so gay sometimes.

Like when she sees Santana entering the bakery wearing a black dress and black pumps.

She's a sight that could probably kill a person with a heart condition. "Hi, Brittany."

"Hey." She smiles, placing a lock of blond hair behind her ear. "Did you see the newspaper yesterday? They mentioned the inauguration. They even put a picture of you delivering your speech."

Santana nods and smiles back. "Not my best angle but I'll take it."

"I think you looked great," she says before she loses her courage, trying not to blush.

Santana clears her throat and runs a hand on her jaw, the corners of her mouth lifting. "Thanks."

"So, what can I get you today?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm here in business," Santana answers, looking around. "I came to talk to Dave."

She frowns, but says nothing. It's better to discuss with her dad afterwards. "He's back at the office. Let me take you there."

Santana follows in silence, giving her one last glance before closing the door.

**04 | NEGOTIATIONS**

She's angry.

She's angrier than she thought she could be.

Her father tries to reason with her, that this is the best that they could possibly get, that this is a very generous offer, that they can start over after that, get rid of this trouble and this lack of money and the bakery is making them slaves.

She sets her arm free from his grasp, in the verge of tears. Doesn't he understand? She thought of all people, he would agree with her. She grew up in that place, and she saw her mom fought for it. Can't he feel how much her mom still inhabits these rooms, the strength of her presence, and how it's the only thing they have left to pull them together?

But he says he's an old man who deserves his rest, that he can't stand it anymore and Santana's offer is more than enough for their debt and their mortgage on the house. It's much more than it's really worth. In the end, the bakery is in his name and it's up to him to make that decision.

She leaves the house with a set destination in mind.

-.-.-.-.-

She's minding her own business.

She's at her own house, eating her steak with green salad, hearing the reports from the men on the field, when someone starts making a scene by the door, and one of her bodyguards comes in to say some Brittany Pierce wants to talk to her.

"Let her in."

The bodyguards are looking at the uninvited guest with hostility, the men on the table stop what they're doing to look at her in surprise, and even her butler stops in the middle of the room, holding a bottle of wine and looking confused.

Brittany looks a little out of breath, her chest rising and falling quickly. She's wearing a white dress with a blue belt, and her hair is down; she would be absolutely stunning if she was not so clearly out of her mind.

Santana clears her throat, commanding the attention back to her. "Everyone can go. Except for you, Tony. You can pour us some wine."

The rustling of chairs and people leaving fills the room for a moment. The bodyguards are the last ones to leave. They look at her, as if waiting final confirmation. She nods, cleaning the corner of her mouth with a napkin and placing it back on her lap.

Tony pours each a glass of wine and leaves.

Santana looks at Brittany, who's still standing by the door, and gestures for her to sit by her left.

Brittany takes a few steps forward, and the woman is already talking like a Soviet rocket ready to launch. "Have you lost your mind? Talking to my father behind my back, wanting to take my mother's work, her entire life?"

Santana raises her eyebrows and sips her wine quietly.

Brittany seems to deflate, finally, taking a big gulp of Santana's $200-dollar wine and licking her lower lip before speaking. "You can't buy my mom's bakery."

It's entertaining to find someone who wants to disagree with her. Santana doesn't hesitate.

"Yes, I can." Brittany seems to be left wordless by the bluntness. "Have you taken a closer look at the books and balances?"

Brittany frowns a bit. "Not really."

"Your father doesn't owe any bank. He owes me." She sips her wine, looking into Brittany's pretty eyes. "I'm tired of waiting around. He has no savings whatsoever and his gambling addition is way out of his control."

"His gambling-"

"Yes," Santana interrupts. "You have been away for a long time, Brittany." Hadn't she noticed anything? Did she even know who she was speaking to? "I'm being very generous with my offer, you know. I could have done a lot worse. Instead, I'm giving you a chance to start new, debt and obligation-free."

Apparently not ready to give up a fight, Brittany asks, "And what do you get out of this?"

"That's none of your business," Santana answers, firm and authoritative. "You burst into my house, interrupts my meeting, and now you're demanding to know my personal reasons? That's not acceptable." She takes a deep breath. "You should leave."

She gestures to the window and Tony enters the room to escort Brittany out.

**05 | REVELATION**

He's so embarrassed.

He should have never let things get this far.

When his daughter comes back home - and thank God she's in one piece -, he's sitting on an armchair, drinking.

"You could have told me," she tells him.

"Of course I couldn't," he answers with a scoff, taking a sip of his beer. "You weren't here, and I had it under control."

She sits on a chair by the table. "I don't believe you."

"Mostly under control, anyway," her father adds with a gesture. "Of course, then, your mother got sick, and everything was ruined: your savings, my savings, my retirement money, the bakery's clientele..."

She frowns, as if surprised. "You could have told me when I came here."

He nods. "I could. But I didn't." He pauses for a long moment. His wife always said pride would be the death of him, and that could happen quite literally. "I'm sorry. I thought I could make it go away."

"Now what, dad?" The rattling of the house keys in her hand disturbs the silence.

"Now we sell everything," he sighs, finishing his drink.

She looks to him. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

He looks back at her. "There is no other way. It's better than I had hoped for."

She seems to realize something. "Are you still gambling? Be honest."

He shakes his head, setting his bottle aside. "No. Santana won't let me anymore."

He considers telling her how dangerous Santana is and how deep he's into this; he almost tells her, mouth opening to begin the sentence. But he changes his mind. The less Brittany knows, the better. There is no reason to get her even more involved.

-.-.-.-.-

She's looking just fine.

She applies a layer of red lipstick and looks at herself on the mirror, donning a marvelous blue dress.

Her secretary is still at her desk when she leaves, remind her of the appointments for the next day. He's a tall, black man, very handsome with his full lips and broad shoulders, because the darker the chocolate the richer the taste and she has always been a woman to like her man candy.

She winks at him and takes the elevator to reach the Casino's restaurant.

"Good evening, Ms. Jones," the maître greets her and takes her suitcase, walking them to the VIP area immediately.

Santana Lopez gets up when seeing her, holding her right hand with both hands, a warm smile on her face. "You, my friend, look stunning."

They kiss each other's cheeks and she takes a good look at Santana: black slacks, a dress shirt, and Jimmy Choo's latest jade pointy pumps. Girl always had style.

"You are a flatterer, Santana." She answers with another smile, nodding to the maître when he pulls a chair for her and leaves her suitcase by her side. "You don't look so bad yourself."

"I hope you don't mind, I already ordered us some wine," Santana says, pointing at the glasses already served. "I figured forcing a meeting on a Friday night deserved it."

"Thank you," she answers politely, taking a few files out of her suitcase. "Now business, because I have something later."

Santana looks at her maliciously, but says nothing, taking the papers. She looks at the charts and reports for a few moments. "No unpleasant surprises?"

"Not at all," she answers smugly. "The key players are wrapped around my finger. All of them have agreed to sell, more or less easily." She points to their files. "And you took care of the last one."

Santana seems pleased. "You're a good one, Mercedes."

"You bet I am." She drinks her wine, letting it caress her taste buds. "Now, about the Casino, the next quarter projection will show a rise in 10% in profit and a decrease in 10% in delinquency. Everything's clean and working, and we had no more staff-related disturbances since I restructured the team. Oh, and the restaurant has gotten some great reviews in the most popular blogs; we've got reservations for the whole month."

"Perfect," Santana says. "I knew it was the right decision to get you to run things around here."

She nods. She doesn't mind at all being a pawn in Santana's long term strategy. It got her an MBA, a job, and now she runs the biggest Casino in town before turning 40. Knowing whom to side with was the key to success.

They toast.

**06 | ANTICIPATION**

She has to do something.

She owns a bakery, so the most logic decision is to bake an apology cake.

Saturday early mornings were always slow, even before the clientele had started to disappear, so she goes out to buy all the ingredients, like a handful of the reddest strawberries and a jar of organic strawberry jam. Then she returns and places on the counter the flour, sugar, eggs, butter, and every other ingredient, and turns on the music.

The result is an exquisite, two-layer chocolate cake decorated with icing, strawberries, and silvery sugar beads to sex it all up.

She licks her own lips looking at her masterpiece, and takes the car keys to deliver it.

-.-.-.-.-

It's a dangerous game he's playing.

He shouldn't be there at all.

He opens his shirt some more, displaying his abundant chest hair. It doesn't help his feeling of suffocation at all, but at least he tried. His grip on his camera is tight, as if he's afraid to lose it.

The bodyguards are at the door - two huge Puerto Ricans, hair cut military style, with more gun permissions than Pentagon soldiers - silent and threatening. Their gaze could fall on his car in any given moment. He has to be discreet.

He takes a few pictures with his best zoom: click, Santana leaving the car, wearing black boots, black pants and a dark gold shirt; click, Santana taking her sunglasses off; click, Santana entering the bakery.

He's got no serious lead so far. Those photos mean nothing if he doesn't take things further. He knows he has to get closer.

-.-.-.-.-

She's regretting it already.

She's leaving too many clues as it is.

She enters the bakery nonetheless, taking the precaution of turning the OPEN sign to its CLOSED side. No interruptions. It's silent, and quiet; she thinks she can hear the rustling of someone at the back, so she takes a few slow steps further.

The baker shows up. She's drying her hands, and she's wearing a short skirt and a sleeveless shirt, no apron in sight, hair up in a ponytail. A small silence falls; they just stare at each other.

Santana can feel her heart pounding in her chest; it's hard to keep her cool when it's just the two of them, like this. She shouldn't be there. She shouldn't be doing this, but she can't help herself.

Finally, Brittany goes around the counter and gets closer. It's hard to remember what she wanted by going there.

"Why do you keep coming back, Santana?" Brittany asks soft, but sure.

She takes a few deep breaths. Brittany still smells like jasmine. "I don't know."

Brittany stretches her hand. "I think you do." Santana takes it.

Brittany pulls her closer, until their bodies are touching - it's ten times more glorious than she thought it would be. She closes her eyes in anticipation, feeling the faint touch of Brittany's fingertips tracing her features. Her mouth feels dry; she places her hands on Brittany's waist, leaning in.

She joins their lips slowly, feeling Brittany's palm cupping her face, a thumb on her cheek. Brittany kisses her lower lip, taking it between hers and sucking softly, and she sighs to it, licking Brittany's upper lip.

Their breaths mingle together and Brittany tastes sweet, kissing her again. When she notices, she's got Brittany against a wall, pressing their bodies together. Brittany hums in approval, arms around Santana's shoulders.

The kiss deepens and she starts to explore Brittany's mouth, licking behind her teeth, the roof of her mouth, before rubbing their tongues together. They moan together, low, as Santana presses her hips to Brittany's.

Brittany bites Santana's lip, pulling it afterwards. She breaks the kiss to look at Santana - she lets Santana stare as she licks her own lips.

She turns them around and Santana finds herself pressed against the wall; she throws her head back when Brittany's lips find her neck.

**07 | CLASHES**

Shit just got serious.

He lets out a panicked, high pitched shriek when the blade hits 2 inches away from his right eye, sinking into the window's wooden frame.

Grabbing his camera, he makes a run for it - it's a complicated neighborhood with adjacent houses and gardens; if he's smart and fast enough maybe he can make it. He looks back and she's jumping the window and settling on the ground with a thud, her teeth showing in anger as she sprints after his sorry ass.

Exercising was never his thing. He jumps his first low fence, struggling for a second, thankful for having no dogs in sight. He jumps his second fence, followed by the sound of her steps. He turns right and enters the small corridor between a house and a wall, almost tripping on some flower vases.

It's absolutely terrifying how she doesn't say a single word; she just throws a fucking knife at him and then runs.

He looks behind and she's getting closer. His lungs are already aching, but he can't slow down - only God knows what she would do to him if she catches up - so he tries to control his breathing and keep his rhythm.

He finally reaches a bigger street. He can see his car with the corner of his eye, and a triumphant smile spreads across his face as he speeds up one last time

until-

a car door opens suddenly, hitting him full front, and he falls back with a nose bleed.

Santana grabs him by the hair and throws him inside her car.

**08 | CONTRACTS**

He takes his baseball cap off as he enters the office, hesitant.

The lawyer, a pretty blonde boy, smiles to him and invites him to sit. "Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Hummel."

He grumbles something back, fiddling with his coat. He can't avoid the frustration at the whole situation – he's a man who fixes things, of plans and solutions, but he couldn't fix his stepson.

The lawyer's smile doesn't falter. "I have everything ready. Let me just-" he opens a drawer and takes a file out, placing it neatly on the desk. "-take the contract."

He takes the papers and gives it a quick read, a frown on his face.

"Take your time, Mr. Hummel."

He nods to the lawyer, immersed in the reading. A confidentiality agreement about the sale and the owner; a description of the property, to be bought with all the equipment inside it; and finally, enough money in cash to pay for his son's expensive rehab treatment.

He sighs after a few minutes. The document was as polished and round as it could be. He takes the pen, under the scrutinizing eye of the Evans lawyer, and signs the contract.

-.-.-.-.-

He watches his last client leave with a small frown.

He puts the signed contract back, takes another out, and closes the drawer with a key. He puts the key back in his pocket immediately.

Things were escalating faster than he'd like. Santana is surely going to strike big and fast and soon.

The secretary tells him his next appointment called to say she couldn't come.

One more reluctant seller to go. They're procrastinating enough.

He puts his suit's jacket back on and leaves. If the mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mohammed will go to the mountain.

-.-.-.-.-

She has to hide her look of surprise when Sam enters the bakery.

She clears her throat to hide the lie. "Sorry I couldn't go, Sam, but dad isn't feeling well and I can't leave the bakery-"

"Don't worry, Britt." He smiles his nice smile – it hasn't changed a single bit since they were children – and she smiles nervously back. "I brought you the contract so Mr. Pierce can take his time reading it."

She's needs more time to find a way out.

"Thanks, I'll – I'll give it to him and we'll call you when we have signed it."

His smile turns business-like. "I'll be in touch," he says, placing the file on the counter, and leaves.

She makes sure he's out of sight before taking her phone.

"Santana, hi. It's Brittany." She listens for a bit with a small smile. "I'm great. Just wondering when you could take me to dinner."

-.-.-.-.-

She shouldn't be doing this.

She can't help herself, though.

Her hips move back and forth and her back arches, drops of sweat falling on her spine to her lower back. She moans, eyes closed, desperate for release.

The thought of how much trouble they'd be into if they were discovered makes her even hotter, breathier, closer. She shouldn't be messing with another family. She should not be riding the consigliere's fingers, biting her neck, scratching her upper back, grabbing her fire-red hair.

But Jesus, were they talented fingers.

The consigliere's adds another finger, curling them inside, and they both moan in unison.

Jesus, she's so stretched, so ready, so ready-

She would have left her boyfriend a lot sooner if she knew she could come so many times in one night.

She would have offered her services to the Lopez family a long time ago if she knew this was possible.

"QUINN!" Her thighs quiver and her entire body shakes, being held in place by strong arms as she moans and collapses in a long wave.

Quinn kisses her jaw line softly, pulling her fingers out with a smug smile.

She whines, pulling Quinn in for a kiss. "Not bad for a Lopez."

Quinn laughs and changes positions so she's on top, looking down at her. "Oh, Rachel, I'm just getting started."

She's in so much trouble.

She couldn't care less.

**09 | ALLIES**

He knows what he needs to do and he does it well.

It's his biggest talent.

Jacob Ben Israel coughs blood on the ground before passing out. He looks at the beaten little fucker without emotion as two of his soldiers take him to the doorstep of the Smythe household.

On top of the fucker he places a picture of Sebastian having his cock sucked by a man.

That should teach the Smythe clan that they're not the only ones watching.

They get in the car and leave before sunrise.

He places a cigarette between his lips as they drive off. He smiles as he lights it up – Santana would surely show her appreciation for his dedication.

The underboss position has remained open since Matt died.

He is going to get it.

A war would start soon, and the Puckerman is the right man for the job.

-.-.-.-.-

She has a fucking migraine.

She hears the door open and close behind her, but she doesn't bother to look.

Santana stumbles on something and curses under her breath. "Shit, Quinn. Must you be so fucking creepy?"

She rubs slow circles on her temple. "I have a migraine. Leave me alone." Santana takes her hands off and assumes the massage. "God, you're good."

She can almost hear Santana smile. "I've been told."

Santana manages to massage her temples and her scalp at once, earning a moan from Quinn. Girl had always been good with her hands.

They fall in silence for a while.

"Anything new to tell me?" Santana asks quietly, not stopping her massage.

Quinn nods. "Sebastian killed his brother. It's a matter of days before he takes power and becomes the head of the family. His father won't last long."

Santana presses a particular spot that makes Quinn whine in pain and pleasure. "I had Puck deliver their little spy back to them. He was starting to get too close to things."

Quinn lets her chest fall forward as Santana goes down to her neck. "We need to move fast."

Santana pauses. "Is Berry ready for it?"

"She is."

-.-.-.-.-

She bites her lip.

When she said to Santana she should take her to dinner, she hadn't meant the Lopez household.

She hadn't imagined Santana in a black apron, blue dress shirt and jeans, stirring the contents of a pan and sipping wine. The kitchen is clean and modern, and Santana moves fluidly in it.

Brittany sips her own wine. "I didn't know you could cook."

"I can do a few things," Santana says, a smile on the corner of her lip, as she leaves the stove to stand in front of Brittany.

She's absolutely gorgeous. Brittany takes a second to just look at her.

Finally, she sets her glass of wine aside, pulling Santana by the waistband of her pants. Santana settles against her, hands on her waist, to kiss her neck.

Time's running out. Brittany sighs, running one hand through Santana's hair.

"I was thinking," she tries.

"About what?" Santana says, running the tip of her tongue over Brittany's neck.

Brittany shivers all over. "If there isn't a better way to fix things."

Santana bites the pulse point, hips pressing against Brittany's.

Brittany lets out a shaky breath, licking her own lips. "About the bakery. Do you have to buy it? Can't we agree on something else?"

Santana stops and looks at Brittany. "Is this what this is about? Is that why you're here, Brittany?"

Brittany's eyes widen. "No! Santana! I'm here because-"

Santana isn't taking none of it, apparently. "Because you want to seduce me into forgiving your father's debt?"

"No, because I'm attracted to-"

Santana takes a step back and returns to the stove, stirring the pan a few more times in silence.

None of them say anything for a long moment.

God. Talk about things going wrong.

**10 | SMYTHE**

His daughter is so close to danger it makes him terrified.

But it's the lying that makes him angry.

He's screaming. "What do you think you're doing?"

She's screaming right back. "Trying to buy us time! I'm not a quitter."

He holds the contract in his hands, swinging it back and forth. "Hiding the contract from me, like I'm a child? Going out with Santana Lopez?"

The stubbornness came all from his side of the family, he knows it. She's relentless. "I wanted to talk to her, change her mind!"

He settles the papers on the dinner table, trying to cool his head. "You don't make someone like that change her mind, Britt. You don't _make_ Santana Lopez do anything."

Brittany frowns – he's said too much. "Why are you so afraid of her, dad?"

"Be careful, Britt," he answers with a hard look. "You're not used to this kind of people."

He's not going to be the one to admit his association with the mafia.

Not for now.

-.-.-.-.-

He watches his soldiers take the guns from the cars to the building under the light of a streetlamp.

Inside, a soldier finishes installing security equipment; another one stocks the guns on a shelf; a last one uses a computer by the left.

He knocks on the window's glass frame, listening to the bulletproof glass echo behind the closed wooden panel.

"Puck?" someone calls him to help carry a shipment. He takes the box.

Burt Hummel's garage, no more.

This was Santana's third military headquarters now.

-.-.-.-.-

She stares at Brittany.

Brittany stares are her.

She puts her pen down.

Brittany takes a few steps closer.

She's not angry. She's disappointed, for several reasons. For expecting more of Brittany. For allowing herself to be played like that. "I'm not negotiating with you about the bakery."

Brittany nods.

"I'm not talking to you about the bakery."

Brittany nods again, never breaking eye contact.

"It's a problem my lawyers and your father have to deal with."

Brittany kneels on the ground next to Santana's chair, holding its armrest. "I'm sorry."

"I don't care," she says mechanically, but Brittany is kissing her and she's kissing back, grabbing her hair and pulling her to her lap, biting her lower lip and sighing into the kiss.

She just can't help it.

-.-.-.-.-

He sighs, staring at his dying father, wondering why it's taking so long.

The old man would never go out without fight.

He looks at the finger on his father's hand, wishing it was his. It shines under the fluorescent light, tempting.

He thinks of how much authority and power and it would yield him in due time. He would stop being the spoiled brat to be the head of the family, and all these fuckers would have to bow to him.

His personal bodyguard enters the room. "It's taken care of," he says simply.

He nods, gesturing for him to leave. Jacob Ben-Israel would never be found.

No one fails the Smythe family and lives to tell the story. His father said never to forgive, and he was willing to follow that tradition.

He holds in his pocket the photo of him.

Santana was young for her position, but she was blood thirsty.

He could smell something in the air, but he couldn't know what exactly.

Things had to move faster, or his clan would end up in a compromising position.

He had to take leadership.

Then he had to strike back.

**11 | UNPREDICTABLE**

Sweat drips on her forearms, on her spine, soaking her shirt, clinging to the hairs on her neck, messing her tight ponytail. She breathes heavily through her nose, swinging away from Puck's violent fist.

She takes advantage to hit him square in the chest, earning an oof from him and a sideways glance.

Don't be lazy, her father told her. Never rest, never let your guard down. You don't get anything by being weak or by being distracted.

Eyes on the prize.

She smirks when he grabs her arm, using it as leverage to turn her entire body and kick the side of his body, falling to the ground when he lets her go, a hand on the ground kicking his ankles again and getting him on the ground.

The sound echoes in the room, and Puck grunts. He's good though; he's been training for the same time as her.

Basically since they could walk.

His legs intertwine with hers in a painful way, and it's his time to smirk. Arrogant fucker.

It's time for her to throw all her weight to her legs, taking his advantage away and changing positions.

They disentangle from each other and share a look, both on their knees.

Their playlist ends and he curses.

It's only their heavy breathing.

Keep fit. Know what comes your way, her father used to say. Keep moving, stay on top. We're a family of fighters.

Puck tries a series of punches, all well blocked by her. When she starts taking a few steps forward and hitting him, he uses his arms to keep her away.

"We need the bakery," he tries to distract her.

His shirtless torso glistens with sweat.

"I know," she groans, stumbling back when he hits her shoulder.

"I know she was your teenage dream or something, but we need that spot."

She tries to block him, but it's inefficient and she grunts in pain.

"You need to shut the fuck up," it's the last thing she says before dropping to the ground and using the strength in her legs to take him down.

-.-.-.-.-

He opens his mouth dumbly, still on the phone.

"What do you mean my son ran away?"

The clinic staff apologizes, Mr. Hummel this, Mr. Hummel that, and there's some excuse and another excuse that they're looking for him, but he doesn't really listen.

"I'm paying you a lot of money to keep my son clean and to KEEP HIM SAFE!" He yells at the phone. "You better find him today."

He feels his hands shaking.

He has to call Rachel and let her know.

-.-.-.-.-

It's a slow day again.

She's daydreaming, resting her head on her hands, when Santana enters, turning the "open" sign to "closed".

This was trouble.

And boy, those tight jeans, black leather jacket and black boots could be a porn movie in themselves. With Santana's body, her breasts, her cleavage, that smile that smelled like danger, it shoots straight to Brittany's crotch.

"Let's go somewhere," Santana says, and taps on the motorcycle's helmet.

Her throat feels dry. "I can't leave the-"

"Yes, you can," she answers impatiently, pressing Brittany against the counter, and there is not much more to argue. "Let's go somewhere just you and me."

Must Santana be so delicious and irresistible? Brittany nods, wrapping her arms around Santana's neck.

Santana kisses her so slow it's painful, sucking on her lower lip and running the tip of her tongue afterwards.

Her head spins already, her breath catching, because she shouldn't be kissing Santana and this is taking her plans nowhere, but Santana is such a good kisser, especially when she moans inside Brittany's mouth and sinks her nails in Brittany's lower back like that.

"Just you and me," Brittany repeats, whining. Santana kisses her jaw.

-.-.-.-.-

She throws her head back on the pillow.

"Open those pretty legs to me, babe," Quinn says, running her hands on her inner thigh and giving her shivers all over. "Aren't you willing?"

She moves her hips slowly, cursing under her breath. "Fucking tease."

Quinn smiles, scratching Rachel's breasts, pressing her body against the back of Rachel's legs. "I bet you're soaked."

"Oh God, I am," she moans at the small friction, moving her hips some more. "I'm so wet."

Quinn runs a finger through Rachel's folds, and they moan in unison.

"MORE," Rachel moans, and Quinn happily complies. Sweet baby Jesus. "Just like that, please, Quinn," she mumbles incoherently, only satisfied when Quinn starts moving her fingers.

Those fingers draw circles and eights and Rachel can listen to how wet she is.

"Are you gonna come again, Rachel? Come nice and long on my fingers, like you always do?"

Oh God. She will.

-.-.-.-.-

He puts on a toothy grin that doesn't really reach his eyes.

"You see, Mr. Pierce, it's not just about you," he says, closing the buttons of his jacket and getting closer. "Your delay is fucking me over. You think Santana is happy with all this?"

The poor man is breaking a sweat already.

"You think she cares if your daughter kept the contract from you? You think she cares you don't sign anything on the second week of the month because you're a shitty, superstitious gambler?" He laughs. "You think I care?"

He doesn't really like to intimidate people, but he's growing impatient. Santana is not happy and there's only the bakery left before the clan is ready for it.

Plus, the man is a coward. It's going to be a piece of cake.

"It's Monday, Mr. Pierce. No bad luck. Do me a favor and sign this."

He frowns at the sun and stumbles over a trashcan on the sidewalk as he leaves his dealer's shady house, a shot and a sniff too many later.

It's too fucking bright for anyone's sake.

His trembling hands take a cigarette out of his pocket and light it. God, how he missed it all.

When he gets to his father's garage shop, hoping to steal some money from the cash register, it's closed. He stops dead in his tracks, staring at Puck's ugly mohawk as he leaves the building and enters his car.

Puck was Lopez. Not a Smythe.

Something was very wrong.

He needed to see Rachel. Rachel would hug him, explain it to him, and maybe even give him a blowjob with those red lips. He missed her; they hadn't seen each other in forever. She hadn't visited at the clinic, but that was because his stepdad forbid any visitors.

Rachel would make everything better.

**12 | TRIGGER**

He looks at himself on the mirror as he closes the buttons of his black shirt. His pants and his belt are also black – he's all about the grieving as he prepares for his father's funeral.

It's not that he's not sad. He is, in his own way. But his father had been on his deathbed for too long, and he weakened the family with it.

They were disorganized, without direction, for too long. The Lopez family had already started to take its spoils, getting their main Colombian suppliers and putting forward a series of investments to gain the love of the community and the appearance of a respectable public persona.

He isn't dumb – he can see it coming.

He would be ready.

-.-.-.-.-

He wishes for a second he was dressed in something but his dealer's old jeans and t-shirt.

He would see the love of his life after months and he was a little smelly and not his usual handsome self.

His heart beats fast with expectation when he knocks on the door.

-.-.-.-.-

She sighs, taking in the smell of grass and green and the peace around them.

One hour and a half away from the city and the scenario could change so much. She lies by Santana's side, an arm on Santana's stomach.

"Why are we here?" she asks.

Santana sighs. "I needed to get away and I wanted to see you." When she puts a hand on Brittany's waist, her ring shines under the sun.

Brittany wonders when she started using it – she's sure that when she left, Santana didn't wear it. She can't really recall who used it – maybe her father? Maybe she started using it after he passed away?

"Why do you need to get away?"

"There's some business that could use my absence right now." Santana says cryptically.

She kisses under Santana's ear, earning another sigh in return.

-.-.-.-.-

She's getting ready to join Quinn in the bathroom when someone knocks on the door.

"Wait a second," she tells Quinn as she grabs her robe and leaves the bedroom.

Quinn frowns, grabbing her coat to cover herself. "You expecting someone?"

"Not really," she answers, reaching for the door handle.

-.-.-.-.-

He shakes Mr. Pierce's hand.

"It's been a pleasure doing business," he says insincerely, saving the bakery's keys in his pocket. "You have one hour to take your personal belongings. Our men will be here after that."

-.-.-.-.-

He smiles when Rachel answers the door wearing nothing but a robe – she's even more naked than he expected, and that meant they could be having sex in no time.

Rachel's eyes widen and she takes a step back. "Finn-"

"I'm back." He enters the house and closes the door behind him, holding Rachel's neck to kiss her. "We can be together again, love."

She stiffens and places a hand on his chest. "Finn, you can't just show up like this."

He frowns. "What do you mean? You're my girlfriend, of course I can show up at your house."

The low sound of someone's footsteps startles him.

When he looks away from Rachel there's a redhead in a beige overcoat and nothing underneath. "You better get your hands off my girl."

-.-.-.-.-

He grunts, trying to fix one last box in his car.

One of his men gives it one last push.

He looks at his phone: one new message.

_Contract signed._

"Let's go," he says to his men, entering his car. One last headquarter to go.

The three black SUVs follow him quietly.

-.-.-.-.-

She closes her eyes when Brittany kisses her softly, a hand on her waist like old times.

She wishes she could take her to a nice restaurant, but it wouldn't be safe.

Not for a while.

She kisses back, sucking on Brittany's lower lip and scratching her teeth. Brittany lets out a breath that's also a whine, pulling her closer.

She deepens the kiss, exploring Brittany's mouth and sneaking a hand under Brittany's coat. She feels Brittany arching her back, her mouth half open in pleasure when Santana scratches her lower back.

"Still sensitive, huh?" Santana's laugh is muffled by Brittany hard, thirsty kiss. She smiles into it when Brittany changes positions so she's on top.

-.-.-.-.-

She takes a few steps closer.

"Are you dumb or something?" Her voice has an edge to it – this oaf tree is messing with the wrong person. "I said to take your ugly hands way from her."

His stupid eyes go back and forth between her and Rachel as he slowly realizes. He takes a gun, much to Rachel's fear and her delight. She smiles deviously.

He seems divided between pointing at Rachel and at her. "No one is taking my future wife away from me, especially not a Lopez!"

Rachel pushes the gun to the side with one hand, touching his face with the other. "Finn, don't do anything you'll regr-"

"You're the one screwing things!" He falters his aim, too busy screaming at Rachel. "Do you think Sebastian won't find out? He'll do much worse than killing you! You have sworn loyalty to the Smythe clan!"

It's the distraction she needs.

She takes the two semiautomatic pistols hidden under her coat and points at him. "You didn't think I'd walk around unarmed, did you?"

**-.-.-.-.-**

He supervises the unloading of the guns and munitions.

Santana was giving him more and more responsibility – they both knew she was preparing him for the Underboss position.

He smiles at the thought.

A soldier secures the windows; another works on the door, as the others finish fixing the place up. It wouldn't be as well done as the other three headquarters, but it should be a fortress as well in no time.

They could work on the finer details later.

The Smythe's head of the family was dead. Sebastian should officially take over in no time.

They needed to upgrade security in all senior positions and main dealings.

-.-.-.-.-

She whines, eyes closed, when she starts moving her hips on Santana's thigh, still fully clothed.

It's been too long.

Santana breathes out shakily, hands settling on her ass to increase the rhythm – for all her bravado, she's been immensely shy, like she's afraid to take things further.

"I missed you," she finally admits, panting on Santana's ear.

"Me too," Santana answers slowly, kissing her shoulder and squeezing her ass.

-.-.-.-.-

She exchanges a look with Quinn.

The blood is already pooling at their feet.

"I'll call Puck," Quinn says.

"I'll call Santana," she says at the same time, grabbing her home phone.

It would be fucking great if her cellphone hadn't run out of battery.

It rings two times. She doesn't wait for Santana to say anything. "We have a situation. Quinn killed Finn."

"Your boyfriend?"

She hears Quinn on the phone on the other side of her room. "I need a cover-up. Yes. I'll text you the address."

"Yes," she answers Santana. "I don't know if he has contacted someone within the clan or not. He might have – he was high and out of his mind and Quinn was here and she's calling Puck and-"

"Breathe," Santana calmly orders.

Her hands are trembling.

"It's ok. Your loyalty rests with me now, and we're ready. Take your guns and your money and I'll give you shelter."

Quinn turns to her. "Puck will be here in fifteen minutes."

-.-.-.-.-

His job was pretty much boring, most of the time. Supervising the phone calls made by key members of the Smythe clan could sound exciting, but it really wasn't.

He yawns, stretching his arms.

Then something interesting finally happens.

He calls Sebastian. "You might want to hear this. Rachel Berry's home phone."

He plays the call._ "We have a situation. Quinn killed Finn." "Your boyfriend?" "Yes. I don't know if he has contacted someone within the clan or not. He might have – he was high and out of his mind and Quinn was here and she's calling Puck and-" "Breathe. It's ok. Your loyalty rests with me now, and we're ready. Take your guns and your money and I'll give you shelter."_

The recorded call ends.

"That little bitch," Sebastian says. "She's going to pay for it."

Sebastian hangs up.

He puts his earphones on and goes back to listening.

* * *

**[Final Note]**

The chapters for Act II, The War, will be posted on my Tumblr every Friday, 9pm GMT.

Only after having posted all chapters on Tumblr, I'll update here on ff.

Leave a review, say hello; I don't bite!


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